


Years

by sara_wolfe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, drabbles gone wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is seventeen, and his life is just beginning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liron_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liron_aria/gifts).



> I blame **liron-aria** for this, who, during a discussion of Sam Winchester, said: _Are we ever told what Sam's actual major is? We're told he's pre-law, but that's not a major at Stanford (or anywhere, actually), it's a designation for academic planning. We know he took Spanish and an Art History course, but beyond that… He could have done anything from Biomedical Engineering to Anthropology. ___
> 
> __And somehow, what was supposed to be a two-second drabble on Sam's major in college turned into this._ _

Sam is seventeen, and a high school senior. He's been at this latest school for two weeks, and his dad is already making noises about moving onto the next job. It's his third school of the year, and it's far from the last. He's quiet, keeps to himself, doesn't answer a lot of questions in class (there's not much of a point when he'll be gone in such a short time, and he'd given up fighting his dad over the whole school thing a couple years before).

So, he's surprised when his literature teacher asks him to stay behind at the end of class one day. He hadn't thought that he'd done anything wrong, anything that would even get him noticed, and he's dreading this conversation. He can't imagine anything good coming of it.

Which is why he's not expecting the stack of paper that's pushed across the desk to where he's sitting. Sam glances down at the paper, seeing but not understanding the Stanford logo at the top of the first page.

"I don't know what your plans for college are," his teacher says, "but I think you've got a good shot."

"Stanford is one of the best schools in the country," Sam says, numb. He thinks he might even be in shock.

"I've done some digging into your academic career," comes the reply. "You're a brilliant student, Sam. An analytical mind, amazing test scores, you should really consider Stanford."

Sam wants to tell him that college isn't an option. Hasn't ever really been an option, not with John Winchester running his life. But then he looks down at the Stanford logo again, and he can feel the words die on his tongue. He realizes that he wants this; he's never wanted anything more.

"I will," he promises, trying not to wrinkle the papers as he takes them off the desk.

* * *

He looks at the application in secret, hiding it from John and Dean because he knows the kind of hell that'll be raised if they find it. He keeps the papers safe in his backpack, filling it out in the tiny amount of spare time he steals away from his family.

The application itself is fairly easy; essay, test scores, teacher recommendations (he's been assured that they're glowing). The hard part is the money. Not just the application fee, but money for after, when he's headed to Stanford and has to pay for housing, textbooks, food…bus ticket to California, because he can't imagine his father being all that willing to drive him to school after he finds out what Sam's done.

Dean and his dad have always been dismissive of Sam's hustling abilities, not that Sam can really blame them, since he's always been pretty dismissive of the practice as a whole. But that doesn't mean he can't do it. He's careful about it, small amounts over a long period of time, and he just looks like a kid with a lucky streak. Over four months he's saved up about two thousand dollars, and he drops his application in the mail at the very last second.

He counts the days, the minutes, the seconds until April. He'd given the school Uncle Bobby's address for any return documents, and he spends the entire day waiting anxiously by the payphone he'd called Bobby from earlier that morning. The payphone rings at 3:19 pm, and Sam snaps it up with a breathless, "Bobby?"

"You're in, Sam." Everything kind of whites out for a few seconds while Sam tries to process those three words. He tunes back in in time to hear Bobby's voice, "-last day, May first."

"Wait, what? Bobby, what's May first?"

"Your last day to accept their offer of admission," Bobby tells him. "In case you want to sit on the letter or something."

"I don't," Sam says, hastily. "I wanna go. I - I wanna-"

"I'll drop your acceptance in the mail, today," Bobby says, cutting off his slightly-hysterical rambling.

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam tries to sound calm even though his hands are shaking like crazy, but he's pretty sure the older man isn't fooled.

"No problem, kid." Bobby's voice is gruff, like usual, but Sam thinks he can hear a note of pride in his voice. "Oh, and Sam? Congratulations."

* * *

Sam is eighteen, and he's sitting at the Kansas City bus depot at three in the morning. His bus isn't leaving for another two hours, but he's been here all night. He hasn't had anywhere else to go.

His conversation with his father had gone almost exactly as he'd thought it would. He hadn't really been expecting John to kick him out, but he can't really say that he's surprised. Going against his father's mission is bound to have consequences, after all. Frankly, Sam's willing to consider it a small price to pay. He wishes that Dean and his father could understand where he's coming from, but he's not going to turn his back on his dreams for their benefit. Not anymore.

When the bus pulls up, he gets on without looking back.

* * *

The trip to Palo Alto takes two days. Sam "borrowed" a couple of books about Stanford from the public library (he plans on shipping them back as soon as he gets to school), and he spends the trip reading up on his new home for the next several years.

When the bus pulls up to its final destination at Stanford University, Sam is seized with a fear unlike anything he's ever known in his life. It takes every bit of strength he has to put one foot in front of the other, to step off the bus and onto the cracked sidewalk. He forces himself to move away from the bus one step at a time, squashing down the part of him that wants to turn around and run back to Dean and his father. He's not a scared little kid anymore. He's not leaving.

When the bus pulls away behind him, he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Now he couldn't leave even if he wanted to. Shouldering his worn-out duffel bag, he heads toward the enormous campus.

* * *

His roommate's name is Brady. He's nineteen, eternally-cheerful, the kind of all-American golden boy that Dean had always mocked in high school. He also greets Sam with a huge hug like they're long-lost brothers, and babbles excitedly about his road to Stanford and his plans for the future.

Sam likes him immediately.

Brady also doesn't even bat at eye at the salt Sam sprinkles on the windowsill and in the doorway (you can take the boy out of the hunt, but not the hunter out of the boy). He accepts Sam's hasty explanation that it's a religious thing, and Sam catches him replacing the salt lines on his own when they get worn out, or when they have to vacuum their dorm room. When Sam asks him about it, he gets a shrug and, "Just 'cause it's not my thing doesn't mean it's not important to you."

* * *

Sam is nineteen, and he's currently driving himself crazy trying to declare his major. There are so many options, and he loves all of his classes, and if he could, he'd take everything the college offered…

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Sam jerks his head up at the sound of the feminine voice coming from somewhere above his head. She's tall, with messy blonde hair and light blue eyes, and for a moment, he's temporarily forgotten how to talk. "Um-"

"Is the seat free?" He still can't get any actual words out of his mouth, completely struck dumb by this woman's presence in front of him. The tiny part of his mind that never really escaped hunting is screaming at him that he's facing a succubus or something.

"The seat's yours." Brady's smooth voice cuts through the haze in Sam's mind, and he pulls the chair out with a gallant gesture to the woman. "Jess, I'd like you to meet my not-always-a-space-cadet roommate, Sam Winchester. Sam, the goddess you're obviously not good enough for is Jessica Moore. Jess is in my Intro to Psych class."

"Nice to meet you, Sam Winchester." Jess holds a hand out to him, and Sam somehow finds the presence of mind to take it. "So, what are you studying?"

"Not sure yet," Sam admits, glancing down at the book in front of him. "There's just so many choices-"

"Oh, I know!" Jess's face lights up as she leans across the table toward him. "I have no idea how I'm going to make up my mind. I just want to take everything, you know?"

Before Sam can say anything, Brady pushes his chair back with a noisy squeal that gets him dirty looks from half the library. "Well, I'm going to leave you crazy kids alone to flirt, or talk shop, or whatever you geeks like to do for fun."

He grins and disappears, and Sam is left alone at the table with Jess. And he's out of words again.

"I - I wasn't really flirting with you," he finally manages to force out. He's afraid she's going to leave, but he has no idea what to say to make her stay, and-

Jess chuckles, cutting off his rambling thoughts with a sly grin. "Too bad, because I was flirting with you."

* * *

Sam is twenty, and he and Jess are moving into their first apartment together. She's got enough boxes to fill a small moving truck; he's barely collected more than what he came to school with two years ago.

The first night, he sets the salt lines again, out of a habit he just can't break. Jess watches him, a small smile playing at her lips while he meticulously covers the windowsills. She's never asked for an explanation, but if she did, he's not sure he could bring himself to lie to her.

That night, they lay in bed and talk about their futures. Sam has finally decided to major in Poli Sci, and he wants to apply to law school. Jess has settled on bioengineering, and Sam teases her that the only reason she's going into engineering is so that she can build her own Iron Man suit. Jess does not deny this.

Jess tells him that she wants kids, a big family like the one she grew up in. Sam can't bring himself to tell her that the idea of kids terrifies him, that he's scared to death that he'll turn into his father. From the way she squeezes his hand and says that they could also travel the world and be young and in love for the rest of their lives, he thinks that maybe she understands.

Six months later, when she asks him to marry her, he doesn't even hesitate before saying yes.

* * *

Sam is twenty-one, and he's been agonizing over his LSAT results for so long that he's pretty sure he's driving Jess crazy. He's paced his fiftieth circuit of their living room when she rolls her eyes, grabs her jacket, and forcibly pulls him out of the apartment.

"Where are we going?" Sam demands, as Jess stuffs him into their tiny, two-door car and starts the engine.

"Somewhere you can stop obsessing for a while," Jess tells him. "We're going wedding dress shopping."

Sam glances down at his watch out of instinct. "You are aware that it's eleven at night, right?"

In answer, Jess pulls her cell phone out and dials a number, turning on the speakerphone and setting it on the dashboard.

"Miles' Blushing Brides!" The voice on the other end of the line is far too cheerful for this late at night, and Sam wonders if everyone Jess knows is as crazy as she is.

"Miles, you still open?" Jess takes a corner with her usual reckless abandon for traffic laws (if she ever meets Dean and sets her eyes on the Impala the world is doomed).

"For you, Jessie? Any time."

"Be there in ten," Jess hangs up the phone and shoots Sam a triumphant grin. "You were saying?"

"Weren't you the one who wanted to wait until we'd finished school to get married?" Sam asks.

"Doesn't mean I can't dream," Jess retorts.

Ten minutes later, they're pulling up in front of a storefront. A tall, blond man is waiting for them in the doorway. He looks familiar, and after a second, Sam thinks he can place him.

"Don't you have a brother named Miles?" he asked. Jess gives him a sunny, cheerful smile.

"Yep." When Sam doesn't say anything, Jess pokes him, gently, giving him a concerned look. "Hey, you said that you wanted to meet my family, and I figured that small doses would be best, but if you don't want to, we can get out of here. Miles will understand."

Sam leans over and kisses Jess. "Let's go. I want to meet your brother."

* * *

Sam is twenty-two, and his brother just came crashing back into his life after four years away. John is missing and Dean needs his help to find him. He argues, and he protests, but in the end he lets Dean drag him off after their father. He's family, after all, and old habits die hard.

They don't find John, but they find a ghost, and save some lives, and Dean gets himself arrested, and it's just like old times. But Sam doesn't want those old times, he wants normal and safe. He wants the life that he and Jess have been building together.

So he walks away from Dean again, but this time it's easier than the last. And he goes back to the apartment, and flops on the bed with a cookie, and he can hear the shower running, and he's contemplating getting up and joining Jess-

Only Jess isn't in the shower. She's pinned to the ceiling above his bed, eyes wide with horrified fear as blood drips from a gash in her stomach. Sam can't move, can't breathe, not even when the room bursts into flames, but he manages to fight when Dean appears out of nowhere and drags him out of the burning building, because Jess is back there, and he can't just leave her-

Sam is twenty-two, and his world has just ended.


End file.
